


Donna è Mobile, La

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-01
Updated: 2006-05-01
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Donna gets ditched, Josh takes her to the opera, wacky fun with Verdi tunes and a little soulful romanticism ensue.





	1. Donna è Mobile, La

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

"La Donna e Mobile"

\------by Kim

Summary: Donna gets ditched, Josh takes her to the opera, wacky fun with Verdi tunes and a little soulful romanticism ensue.

Rating: Aw, hell, let's call it PG becaue it sounds good.

Archive: I would feel disproportionately flattered. Just drop me a note.

Disclaimer: The second person here is Josh. He and Donna both belong to Aaron Sorkin, Man of Many Delightful Words. I'm not making any money off of the two of them; if I were, I would already have dropped out of school and moved to Washington to be full-time political junkie. Here are some other things I'm not making money off of: a fictional Amnesty International report loosely based on real US human rights abuses they documented two years ago, and the opera Rigoletto. I just want to say also that this story would probably not exist if I didn't have the incredible "Winning Strategy" stories of Ryo Sen and Jo March to keep me alive between episodes; you guys, I am your biggest fan!

Now, without further ado...

*******************

"Josh, I'm leaving now!"

You wave your hand in the vague direction of Donna's shout to let her know that you've heard her, not even looking up from the Amnesty International report you're reading. They've been beating up kids in Oklahoma prisons; you didn't know that. You can't believe some of this stuff. Does the President know about this? Probably not, you decide. He'd have crammed the wardens responsible into the Space Shuttle and sent it heading straight for Mercury. Come to think of it, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea to you.

Texas, too. They've been pulling this stuff in Texas prisons. How do they get away with it? How have you not heard this before now? You shake your head in amazement as you flip through the rest of the report. 267 pages of detail on human rights abuses in this country that you love, that you've devoted your life to. It levels you.

It's about eight o'clock when you next look up from the report. The door to your office is open, and you can see through the doorway that all the lights in the bullpen have been turned off. You figure everyone must have gone home until you hear a sniffle from the corner of the room. YOu walk cautiously out to take a look around and find Donna sitting at her desk, flipping through the yellow pages. She's wearing a black dress with spaghetti strap sleeves and, not surprisingly, she's shivering.

"Donna?" you say, amazed and confused by her voluntary presence in the West Wing on a Friday night.

She turns quickly at the sound of your voice. Her eyes are red at the edges like she's been crying, and her cheeks are flushed with the cold. "Oh, God - Josh," she says in a thready voice. "You scared me. I didn't know anyone was still here."

"Didn't you leave a while ago?" you ask.

"Um, yeah, I - " She quickly and not-too-surreptitiously wipes away a tear. "I was supposed to. This guy was supposed to come and pick me up."

"Someone stood you up?" You don't really mean to sound as angry as you do. "Donna \- and you've just been standing out there all night?"

"It's only been about 45 minutes," she says, trying and failing to sound light-hearted. "I wouldn't really say it'd been all - "

"It's ten degrees outside!" On second thought, you do mean to sound that angry. Your secretary - your assistant, your liegewoman if you will (not to mention your friend) has been standing in the street outside the White House for almost an hour because some jerk of a guy can't be bothered to call and cancel a date?

"Josh, really, it's not - " she tries.

"Who is this guy? What's his name?" you demand.

" - not a big deal," she finishes tiredly. "Really... not a big deal. Besides, if I told you his name, you'd make him the subject of a House subcommittee investigation or something, and then we'd both get fired."

"I would not."

"Would too," she flares, with a shaky smile.

The smile heartens you. "No, I'd just sic the IRS on him."

She laughs.

"See, now you're laughing. You don't think I'd sic the IRS on him?"

"No, Josh, I definitely think you'd try. I just have a feeling Leo might say it wasn't such a good idea."

"Leo doesn't have to know about it."

"Josh - " she rolls her eyes as though too exasperated with you to speak. You grin.

"So where was this complete loser - "

"Josh!"

"Sorry, where was this bright and really considerate young man supposed to be taking you?"

"We were going to the opera. Rigoletto."

"Oh." Your ignorance must show.

"Verdi, Josh. See, the Duke of Mantua has this jester, and he has this daughter, and she's in love with the Duke, only she doesn't know he's the Duke, she thinks he's a penniless student, and then the Duke and his courtiers kidnap her, and he ravishes her, and her father wants to kill the Duke to avenge her shame and there's this assassin who offered to kill his enemies for him so he hires the assassin but then his daughter sacrifices herself for the Duke because she loves him even though he's wronged her terribly, and then her father finds her dying and realizes what he's done, and it's all because this guy cursed him, and - " she stops. "You don't really care, do you?"

"I do care," you protest. Actually, you lost her around the part with the jester, but she'd gotten so involved in her explanation that she'd forgotten for a few minutes to look miserable, and you didn't want to interrupt her.

She sighs. "I love opera, Josh. It's noble, and tragic, and totally unlike real life. And I love opera houses. They're like palaces. I've been looking forward to this all week. I really, really wanted to go. And now I've got these two tickets, and I'd feel like such a -" you can tell she's trying not to cry here "-a total reject going by myself, and having that empty seat next to me. So now I'm going to call myself a cab, which I should have done about half an hour ago, and I'm going to go home and go to bed."

You think about this for a moment. You think about your plans for the evening: stay in your office reading reports until someone from security comes to politely kick you out, then go home and fall exhausted into bed. You think about sitting in a dark theater for three hours listening to people bellow in Italian.

You look at Donna. She's flipping through the phone book again. She's also crying, quietly, swallowing her sobs with some effort. You think about her having stood out there in the wind in that sleeveless dress for an hour, getting more and more hopeless as the night dragged on.

You think about all of this. And you say, a little tentatively, "Hey. What if I went with you?"

It takes her a second to look up. "Went with me to the opera?"

"Yeah."

"You?"

"Yeah."

"You want to go with me to the opera?" Something's happening to her face; she doesn't look half as tired as she did before. She sniffs and wipes her eyes with one hand. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Her face falls. "But you hate opera, Josh."

"No, I don't." It's not a very convincing denial, even to you.

"Since when?" she challenges.

"Since... whenever. Donna, why does it matter when I started liking opera?"

"It matters. It matters, Josh, because I don't want you doing this out of pity for me. I don't want you thinking, 'Oh, Donna's been dumped, she's wretched and miserable, and I'll pretend to have a good time with her to cheer her up."

"I'm not! I'm not doing that!" You can see that desperate measures are going to be called for. You turn on your Josh Lyman Wunderkind charm full blast, and get down on one knee beside her chair. With mock solemnity, you say, "Donna Moss, I am asking you with the utmost respect if you would do me the great honor of being my guest at the opera tonight."

She's smiling through her tears, and she has the most radiant, joyful smile you have ever seen. "Promise you're not pitying me?"

"I promise."

"Then yes. Thank you so, so, so, so much, Josh." She stands up at the same time you do so that she can throw her arms around you in a gesture curiously reminiscent of your Christmas gift exchange. Her face is buried in your shoulder, and it's strangely comfortable.

After a moment, though, she disengages and heads for the door. "We have to go!" she calls. "Curtain's in less than half an hour!"

You follow her out the door, wondering what you have gotten yourself into.

************** 

(cont'd)

  

  

  

  


	2. Donna è Mobile, La 2

see Part 1 for disclaimer 

*************************

The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts is, you agree, a very impressive concert hall. However, you're not sure it merits the awe with which Donna greets it. Nothing is beneath her notice. She loves the ushers with their little flashlights, the slick programs, the velvet of the seat coverings. She is passionate about the stage curtains, and rhapsodizes about the orchestra. Everything is beautiful to her, flawless, perfect, and when the performance begins she is speechless.

Several times during the first act you glance over at her, seeing her face still and rapturous in the faint glow of the stage lights. She seems totally unaware of anything but the action taking place onstage.

Gradually, you begin to lose yourself in the opera as well. There's something about the upward spiral of two voices in harmony that is miraculous. Chills go down your spine when you hear the clear coloratura voice of the soprano singing the part of Gilda. It amazes you that human beings are capable of producing so graceful and lovely of a sound. And inevitably you think of Joanie - summon from the depths of your mind the image of her standing with preternatural seriousness in front of an invisible audience, her little-girl's hand moving in an approximation of the conductor's star.

Donna looks at you, questioning, and you realize that somewhere in your reverie you have found her hand, and are gripping it tightly. You let go.

During intermission, Donna practically bounces up and down in her seat and demands to hear your opinion of the opera and all members of the cast. You grin; she looks like a little kid trying to contain her excitement.

*Did you see the violins, Josh? All their bows moved at once!*

The ghost of Joanie is with you, here as in every concert hall, but for the first time she is a benevolent specter. You can smile now, hearing in the music what she must have heard, that she loved so much: the incredible beauty of the human spirit. You can look at Donna and love her enthusiasm and joy, knowing that Joanie would have wanted more than anything for you to learn to love the music.

"Josh, have you been listening to anything that I've said?"

You laugh out loud at the look on Donna's face, and at this whole surprising night. "Come on," you say. "I think we both need to go get some very well-deserved champagne."

*************

"Josh," Donna whispers sometimes towards the end of the second act. Onstage, a storm is rattling the walls of Mantua, and operatic tragedy is clearly on the horizon.

"What?" you ask quietly.

"Is it okay if I put my head on your shoulder?"

This suggestion makes you nervous in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. "If you want to."

She threads her arm through yours and rests her head, as promised, on your shoulder, with her hair just brushing your cheek. You are acutely conscious of the warmth of her body and the quick pulse beating from her wrist to yours. When you breathe in, you breathe in the soft, clean scent of her hair. It takes all of your considerable mental ability to concentrate on the opera rather than the very interesting sensory aspects of having Donna this close to you.

As Gilda sings her last lines and dies in her father's arms, you hear Donna sniffling quietly. She's not the only one in the audience. When the curtain falls a moment later and the lights come up, she jumps to her feet to start clapping. You follow her, a beat later.

"Wasn't that fabulous?" she shouts to you over the noise of a full standing ovation. "Oh, my God! That was terrific"

You nod your agreement. You can't tear your eyes away from her face.

It occurs to you that this fascination with Donna is really going to complicate things at work.

*************

It's very late, and you and Donna are both tired, but the drive to her apartment is full of hilarity. This starts when you begin your own rendition of "La donne e mobile," substituting phrases like "spaghetti astronaut" and "Republican death ray" for the Italian words you don't know. Donna finally gives up on correcting you and just sits back and laughs, a more beautiful sound than anything you heard in the opera house tonight. When you launch into a one-man version of what you imagine the trial of Rigoletto would be like ("Oh, come *on*! No judge is going to let him say that it was because of Monser-whatsisname's curse!") Donna chimes in with the voice of the defense attorney. By the time you reach her apartment building, you and she are giddy with laughter. You park your car in the street and Donna stumbles out, still trying to catch her breath. YOu follow her up to the door of her building, hunching your shoulders against the cold November night air.

She opens the door and props it with her foot as she stands, looking at ou. She isn't laughing anymore. "I'll see you Monday morning," she says. "Thank you again, Josh." There's something unreadable in her eyes, and you feel a matching expression stealing across your own face. She starts to turn away.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?" you ask on a whim, half-teasing, half-...something else.

"Jo-osh," she complains, her smile returning. She stops and turns to face you. "You know, if C.J. ever - "

"Just kidding," you assure her.

Something in your face - some reflection of the strange longing/ wishing/ uncertainty that's tangling inside of you - must betray you, because she says in a tone totally different, "Josh - "

You meet her eyes, and you're not sure what flashes between you and her except that the next moment she's leaning forward and your lips are meeting hers hesitantly, your hands going up to cup the sides of her face. The door slams shut as she steps forward, but you don't care at all because you're kissing Donna, and her breath tastes like coffee and peppermint. You love the feeling of her face fitting to yours, the inevitability of this meeting of mouths. You could stay here forever, secure and breathlessly happy in her arms - except - except -

Except that then it's over. Donna steps back, and the night air rushing in to fill the warm places where a moment before you were holding her.

"Goodnight, Josh," she says, and with a sweet and mischievous look she steps inside the building and is gone.

You're left with what you know must be a look of complete bewilderment and a rapidly growing smile. Is that - was that - ?

You've decided. You love this woman.

************

Fin

(hope you guys enjoyed it...)

  


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